


Alien Language

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 23:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: The instrument gathered dust in a corner behind the living room door. Silence fell over the Mulder household.





	Alien Language

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by a scene from "The Lost Art of Forehead Sweat"

Because of his father, a guitar was always present in the Mulder house. Found in strange places, when the phone rang and interrupted whatever he was playing that day. 

Young Fox saw Elvis and Hendrix and hummed "All Along The Watchtower" for months. But before he thought about learning more than 2 nameless chords his father showed him when he was 8 years old, Samantha was gone and all music stopped. The instrument gathered dust in a corner behind the living room door. Silence fell over the Mulder household.  
From then on it was all about records, letting others put his feelings into words, help him understand and cope with stories of love and loss and tormented souls.  
Time passed, music changed, life went on. Sometimes a song on the radio would strum a memory of music his father played at night, proof that he was capable of at least one kind of love that didn't drag everything into the ground. 

 

Enjoying first rays of spring sunshine and his new found freedom, Mulder wandered aimlessly through a quiet neighborhood of comfortable homes, children's bikes in driveways, minivan parked neatly in front of every other garage. Idyllic but not Arcadian. A yard sale caught his eye. A colorful collection of assorted junk that gathered around given sufficient time, was piled outside a garage few houses down.  
There wasn't anyone around when he browsed through books and knickknacks, glanced at the bench and weights and other torture devices he might or might not recognize from late night infomercials dating back to Hagal Place times, trikes and small bikes the kids grew out of and probably didn't have any cousins to pass onto...  
In the far corner, resting against an old leather chair stood a simple, unassuming, acoustic guitar. Her body a little banged up, keys and fretboard bearing marks of frequent use by many hands. The strings were a little rusty, but she felt nice in his arms, the shape somehow familiar. Mulder perched himself on the edge of the chair and cradling her in his arms, strummed the strings gently, shyly. The guitar shivered against his body and he was mesmerized.  
"My son used to play that" a pleasant female voice said from behind, making him jump, the instrument echoing his surprise.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to"  
"No, please, you look like you need a friend like that"  
"A guitar can be your friend?"  
"Friend, lover, a voice you can't find elsewhere" the woman was somewhere around his age, still pretty, a tall slender blonde "and what girl doesn't love a guy with a guitar"  
Mulder chuckled, remembering that one time Scully looked at him as if he was crazy, playing air guitar in the car "Yeah, my wife would love that" he said.  
"I'm sure she will" the owner agreed, pulling the sweater around herself tighter "the guitar is yours, for 30"  
"It needs new strings" he smiled back, bargaining being part of the fun obviously "I'll give you 20"  
"25, because you looked so handsome" the woman countered and Mulder laughed, took out his wallet and paid the original 30.  
She called after him when he was about to leave and pressed an old, dogeared book into his hands.  
"Take this too" a songbook "and good luck" she nodded tucking long strands behind one ear, spring sun making them shine.  
“Thanks” Mulder smiled and walked on, stopping at the music store on his way home.

The man behind the counter whistled seeing the instrument in his hands.  
“Hello old friend” he smiled broadly and took the guitar to examine it closely “Corine could have taken better care of you”  
Mulder watched the guy do the same thing as he did, strum a few chords, tut here and there turning keys to fix the sound.  
“I don’t follow” he admitted after initial surprise passed.  
“Sorry, it’s just, this used to be my guitar, before I passed it on to my nephews” the man's touch looked gentle, reverent even “I would recognize her everywhere, thought she was lost.”  
“I just bought it at a garage sale” hands in his pockets, a little unsure what to do, realizing that he forgot the feeling that accompanied facing a new challenge. Frightened excitement.  
“It’s your first guitar” the man guessed, and he nodded sheepishly “well, with new strings she’ll be as good as new, it’s a good instrument to start with”  
“Okay, let’s get her fixed up”  
Mulder left the store an hour later with another book, a case and a stand. 

 

It took him a while to figure out why his fingers hurt pressing down the strings to get a clear sound. Memories of pain flashing white beneath his eyelids, Scully's face when she set his fingers, the hurt in her eyes when he lied. He tried again accepting the pain, a simple open C, clear and ringing beneath his fingertips. Like Scully. 

The songbook was old, but it was okay, he was old too. Well, maybe not old, classic. He got lost in it for a while, reading the lyrics and humming the songs under his breath. The manual had tables of chords and he took time to scribble diagrams next to the songs he wanted to learn. The coffee made when he got home stood cold and forgotten, time got lost, before he knew it, alarm on his phone went off reminding him it was time to see about dinner for them.  
Scully found him in the kitchen chair, waiting for the rice to boil, laughing at himself when the couldn’t make the F chord sound right for the twentieth time.  
“What’s this?” She asked, leaning in for her kiss, hand around his shoulders “new hobby?”  
He shrugged and set the guitar aside “Oh, you know" deflecting her question "How was your day?”

He looked at the cartoons in the book the man at the store recommended and chuckled. Back to school to learn new alphabet, one chord at a time. E B G D A E, C, F, minor, major, barre, hieroglyphics of notes like recordings of an alien language. No wonder humans sent music into space.  
His hands were rusty, aching in places he didn’t know he could ache, feeling too big, clumsy to the extreme. She was much more demanding than Scully, making him work hard to get her to sing. It looked daunting enough that he almost gave up after first week. 

One evening, Scully working another night shift at he hospital, he was going through the songbook, picking songs he loved, seeing them in new light, until he found her song and memories came flooding back. He tried to follow the chords feeing silly at first, she couldn't sing, and he didn't do better at first. The strumming pattern was not right and his fingers were just too slow, the melody stuttered. But he was stubborn, he tried time and time again until... Joy to the world... He played an entire song for the first time. He couldn't stop smiling, sang it in the shower.  
Still it's a challenge, some notes keep trembling, unsure, the flow broken, fingers still learning which should go where to make the sounds he wanted. Some parts are easy, instinctive even, C to A minor is just moving one finger to a different string, one small change gives a completely different sound.  
G and D, he likes the sound of those two together. Soft and calm or strong and resonant, all depending on how hard he stroked the strings. There's power in that, truth he recognizes, different sounds as products of different circumstances. 

Time flies when he's having fun. Sitting on the porch steps, his fingers ache but his lips smile, the music is born in his hands and it's been a while since he felt the rush. All other thoughts leave his mind, he hasn't visited a message board in days, papers on his desk gather dust. He strums the strings and barre chords start to sound right. The grass grows taller each day, the summer nights grow short and warm. 

Heat backed the grass all day and the scent is pouring through the open window on silver moonshine, full moon strolling through the cloudless sky. They lay in bed, Scully cuddled into his side, cheek on his shoulder, skin damp from their recent exercise. She splayed her right palm against his left, fingers spread wide, only fingertips touching lightly. Four calluses right below his fingernails, he felt her touch but the tips of his fingers were numb.  
"Your hands feel different" she sighed a little awed, having been screaming his name not fifteen minutes ago "I didn't expect that"  
That was the best compliment she could pay him and lacing his fingers through hers, he brought them to his lips. Such a small hand, gentle bones that could heal or kill. The ring on his finger shined bright, sun and moon, one on her other hand to match.  
"Play something for me" she says, lifting herself on one elbow, hovering over him. Freshly trimmed hair now falling two inches below her shoulders spill around her face making her look soft and relaxed. It's sometimes embarrassing how much he loves her.  
"But my hands are tired" he teased, hiding his self-consciousness behind humor, as always.  
"No, they're nice and warmed up" she bit one of his knuckles then kissed it gently "Please, you always stop playing when I come home"  
"Because it sounds terrible" letting go of her hand, he pulled himself close "I can barely guess the song I'm playing myself"  
Face hidden in her neck he tried to distract her with sloppy wet kisses, licking and nibbling without any real pattern, hands roaming her back and cupping her ass.  
"I'm sure it's not worse than my singing" her words tried to sway him, but arms and legs drew him closer. She kissed his forehead and hooked one leg around his hip. Arm around her waist, he almost pulled her on top, but she breathed in his ear "please?"  
Mulder chuckled, gave up and closed his arms around her in a hug. She knew how to play him, she was a virtuoso of his heartstrings and he loved her for it, among many other things. Next kiss on his face was one of silent thank you and a whispered promise of a reward.  
Reluctantly he untangled himself and padded buck naked to the corner of the room, where he left the guitar leaning against the chest of drawers.  
Scully watched him, head propped up, arm bent at the elbow, he was always a sight for sore eyes, but even more so now, when lanky turned lithe, thin became toned, gorgeous not gaunt. She fluffed a pillow against the headboard for him and moved back, making room again.  
For a second, the guitar felt cold against his nakedness, the scent of lacquer and wood never faded. Old and beat up, just like him, she got a new home and a new life with new strings. Scully looked at him from under her lashes, the sheet tucked around her, one look at her waist and he knew why the guitar felt so familiar. A few cords picked at random vibrated through the instrument and made him think of her shivering in his arms. But even more so of her holding him in her small arms and keeping watch in the middle of a dark forest, eons ago. He strummed the strings and sang softly.  
_"Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine"_  
He kept singing and playing while she rolled onto her back, laughing her musical laugh.


End file.
